


Heaven Is The Arms That Hold Us

by capnstark



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capnstark/pseuds/capnstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Think you might have caught a bug or summat," Harry says, feeling how warm Louis' face is with the back of his hand, one cheek then the other.<br/>"Can't have," Louis mumbles, ready to bend over the toilet as his stomach lurches wildly again. "We have the awards tomorrow and the show Sunday."<br/>"Can't do 'em if you're ill, Lou..."</p>
<p>or the one when Louis is too sick to go to the NRJ awards in France in December, and Harry takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Is The Arms That Hold Us

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'I Will Be Blessed' by Ben Howard
> 
> Disclaimer: One Direction don't belong to me, I'm just borrowing them

Louis starts to feel like he’s coming down with something almost as soon as they leave the awards show in Madrid and start making their way to the airport but he doesn't say anything, not wanting to make a fuss or for anyone to worry about him. Harry notices but he doesn't say anything either, and if Louis were more himself he’d notice that Harry keeps a closer eye than usual on him in the car and through security until they've boarded the private plane that’s taking them to Cannes.

“You alright?” Harry asks when they’re buckled into their seats, plane taxiing across the runway.”You’re quiet.”

Louis shifts a little in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Harry’s sat opposite him and Niall beside him and he can’t remember where Liam and Zayn are. “Just tired, I think,” he says, eyes fluttering shut already and missing the way Harry’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

He wakes up less than an hour later, wrapped in Harry's black pea coat with his head resting on Harry's arm and feeling worse than he did before he'd fallen asleep. He hacks out a cough, head pounding and stomach churning with the gentle lilting of the plane and buries his face further into Harry's skin.

"Hey," Harry says, "feeling better?"

"No," Louis mumbles, not having the energy to fully lift his head. "Feel like 'm gonna be sick."

Harry leans forward and Louis whines when his head gets jostled by Harry moving his arm but he's back in seconds, letting Louis press into his side again.

"Sorry," Harry apologises, unscrewing the lid from a bottle of water. "Here, sip it slowly if you feel sick."

Louis takes the bottle and sits up a bit to drink but he barely manages a quarter of the bottle before his stomach threatens to make an appearance. "Urgh, don't wanna throw up," he says, like a warning, and shoves the bottle back into Harry's hands.

"You look like shit, mate," Niall supplies from where he's stretched across both seats opposite them now that he's switched with Harry. Louis tries to give Niall the most disgruntled look he can muster but it comes out as more of a pained grimace and he makes grabby hands for Harry's arm to cuddle into again.

"Why don't you try sleeping a bit more, babe?" Harry murmurs, turning to press a gentle kiss into Louis' hair. "I'll wake you when we get there."

It's Zayn that wakes Louis when they arrive in France though, and Louis feels so groggy and out of it that he just blinks up at him and slurs a little when he says, '' _arry_?'

"Nah, mate, it's Zayn, Harry went on ahead with the others," Zayn explains, gathering up Louis' hoodie and jacket from where he'd discarded it on an empty seat earlier. "Come on, it's only fifteen minutes to the hotel and then you can get some rest."

He dozes off in the car, head on Zayn's shoulder and feeling like he's going to throw up any minute so he tries to focus instead on the sound of Zayn's fingers tapping away on his phone and the thought that soon he'll be able to climb into a plush hotel bed with Harry and really sleep.

They enter the hotel through the underground parking garage so there is nobody there to see Louis lean heavily on Zayn, Alberto watching closely from behind, as they slowly make their way up to the fifth floor.

"One sick Tommo," Zayn announces when they enter Louis and Harry's room; Harry pokes his head out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in his mouth which he takes out to give Zayn a foamy smile. Louis ignores them both and collapses onto the bed with a groan, immediately shutting his eyes. He hears Zayn and Harry exchange a few words and then the door clicks shut and someone's tugging on his ankles.

"Leave me alone," he grumbles, trying to curl up into a ball and Harry huffs out a laugh.

"You can't sleep in your shoes, Lou," he says, and Louis gives in, lets Harry pull off his trainers and manhandle him out of his coat and hoodie.

"Can I sleep, now?" he asks a little sullenly but his annoyance is kind of lost with how pale he is and the fact that he can't seem to stop shivering.

"Yes, you can sleep now," Harry says fondly, leaning forward to press the softest kiss to Louis' forehead; Louis' eyes are already halfway closed so Harry helps him to lie down then pulls the covers up over him so he doesn't get cold.

Harry's asleep next to him when he wakes up with the overwhelming feeling of needing to be sick and he only just makes it into the bathroom before he's emptying his stomach into the toilet. He heaves and heaves until his stomach aches with it and he leans his head against the side of the bowl, face wet with tears and sweat then he feels a hand slip into his hair, scratching against his scalp just the way he likes.

"How you feeling, babe?" Harry asks and Louis would roll his eyes if he weren't so afraid that it'd make him pass out.

"Like shit," he says instead, leaning back towards the warm weight of Harry behind him. Harry hums softly, an arm tight around Louis' middle and he reaches up towards the sink, turning on the tap for a few seconds and then Louis sighs when a cool, wet towel is pressed to his forehead.

"Think you might have caught a bug or summat," Harry says, feeling how warm Louis' face is with the back of his hand, one cheek then the other.

"Can't have," Louis mumbles, ready to bend over the toilet as his stomach lurches wildly again. "We have the awards tomorrow and the show Sunday."

"Can't do 'em if you're ill, Lou," Harry says, rubbing gently at Louis' back as he's sick again.

They make it back into bed almost an hour later once Louis is sure that his stomach has settled, at least for the time being, but Harry puts a bin at the side of the bed just in case. Louis' hot and sweaty to the touch yet shivering still so Harry curls around him and lets Louis rest  his head on Harry's chest, cold fingers digging into Harry's side.

"Don't wanna miss the shows," Louis says quietly, his voice rough and hoarse. "I never miss anything."

"Everyone will understand," Harry says, stroking Louis' sweaty fringe out of his eyes. "You can't help being sick, can you?"

"Useless, ain't I?" Louis mutters with a sigh, thinking Harry won't hear him.

"Hey, you don't say that," Harry says fiercely, tucking Louis up tighter in his arms. "If you're sick, you're sick."

Louis doesn't say anything else, just cuddles in closer to Harry because he loves him and wouldn't want anyone else here with him while he's sick.

"You're kind of perfect," Harry whispers a little while later, when Louis' almost asleep again. "I think so anyway."

Louis gets up twice in the night to be sick, Harry right there in the bathroom with him every time with a glass of water and a cool cloth and soothing fingers dancing along his back. But he's still not well the next morning, feverish and pale and unsteady on his feet so Harry calls Alberto and tells him that Louis needs to stay in bed, won't make it to the show tonight and leaves no room for argument from either Louis or Alberto. Then Harry gets out his guitar and sits beside a dozing Louis on the bed, playing gentle rhythms of songs Louis knows and ones he doesn't until Niall bangs on the wall and texts Harry telling him to ' _shut the fuck up styles or i will shove that fret board up your arse!_ '

Harry's happy enough to keep Louis company for most of the day,  curled up in bed together watching crappy French television that neither of them really understand. Louis' sleepy and he dozes on and off and, although he's not sick again he doesn't seem much better and Harry ignores his numerous protests about being well enough to attend the awards show that night.

Eventually it's time for Harry to leave to get ready so he gets up out of bed to get dressed and leave for the venue with the others. Louis watches lazily from where he's tucked up tight in the warm duvet, wishing that he was going with them.

"We'll be back before you know it," Harry promises, leaning over Louis to kiss him on the lips, not really caring about the spread of germs between them. "Then we can head home and get some sleep in our own bed."

"Do good, yeah?" Louis croaks, holding on tight to Harry's wrist like he can keep him from leaving.

"Not without you," Harry whispers and kisses Louis again, slow and sweet and like he can't bear to leave either.

Louis thinks that he ought to try to sleep a bit more but it's almost as though he's too tired to sleep, can't switch his brain off from thinking about Harry and the boys and how he's let everybody down by missing the show. He flicks through the TV channels again and again until he finds one showing _Friends_ and even though it's in French he's seen it enough times to know what's happening so he props himself up on a mountain of pillows to watch a few episodes. By the time Monica is proposing to Chandler, Louis feels much better and trusts himself enough to get out of bed and make himself a cup of tea with the tiny hotel kettle on the dresser.

Settled back in bed with a steaming mug of tea he switches on his laptop to find out if the boys are getting on ok at the awards. Twitter is, of course, being swamped by pictures from the red carpet and Louis can't help but feel a little disappointed that he's not there with them.

_'you look lovely x',_ he texts Harry, because he does, dressed all in black and his long chocolate curls draped around his face. Harry looks a million miles away from the boy that had spent all night up with Louis while he was sick and had cuddled Louis close to him all day but Louis' been in love with every single version of Harry Styles since he was eighteen and only seems to fall more and more in love with him every day.

Alberto comes to collect Louis to take him to the airport so he doesn't get to see Harry again until it's nearly midnight and he's collapsing into his seat on the plane, wrapped up well in numerous layers of t-shirts, hoodies and a beanie over his messy, dirty hair.

"You look much better," Harry says happily, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulder and letting him snuggle into Harry's side.

"Missed you, though," Louis says, absently twirling a loose curl of Harry's hair around his finger.

"Was weird being without you out there," Harry admits, shuffling down in his seat so Louis' head can rest on his shoulder and they're both as comfortable as possible for the short flight back to London.

It feels like days later that Harry's letting them into their house and Louis does nothing more than kick off his shoes in the hallway and climb the stairs to finally fall into his own bed, the familiar scent of their washing powder and Harry comforting right away, better than the comfiest hotel bed any day.

"You're determined to sleep in your clothes at some point, aren't you?" Harry teases when he comes into the room a few minutes later to find Louis sprawled across the bed on his stomach still fully dressed and in his shoes.

"Shut up," Louis mumbles, voice muffled by where his face is buried in his pillow.

"Come on, Lou, out of your clothes," Harry says, grabbing hold of Louis' legs and shaking him gently.

"Sorry to disappoint you, honey, but I don't think I'm up to it tonight," he says with a groan, rolling over to flash a smirk at Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes, a move Louis' sure he picked up from Louis in the first place. "I see you're feeling more like yourself, cheeky."

"Wanna do the show tomorrow don't I?" he replies around a yawn, shimmying out of his jeans because he's determined not to get up from this bed again until he really, really has to.

"It's going to be epic," Harry agrees, shutting off the light and climbing under the duvet, encouraging Louis to shift over to his own side.

"Thanks for staying with me today, while I was sick," Louis says, when they're quiet and he's wrapped around Harry from behind, just like usual.

"Don't be daft, I love you, yeah?" Harry says, lifting Louis' hand to press a kiss to his knuckles.

"Love you too," Louis says softly into the dip of Harry's back. Though he's mad at himself for missing the awards in France, and is so determined to make the show that night, it's times like this, when he's sick and at his lowest, that he really believes that Harry loves him just as much as he says he does because he always stays and does everything he can to make Louis feel better. And there can never be any doubt that Louis loves Harry more than anything in the world.  

 

_~fin~_


End file.
